As they left the office, Lucian waved off the driver, instructing him to take a separate car. He slid into the driver's seat, motioning for Elara to join him up front. She settled into the passenger seat, the leather cool beneath her, and the car hummed to life as they pulled away from Duval Enterprises.
Elara pulled down the car's window, letting the breeze brush her face, but it whipped her hair into her eyes. She squinted, adjusting the window up and down.
"St*pid window," she muttered angrily. Lucian shot her a sidelong glance, aware that she was angry because of the way he yelled at her.
"People never change, huh? Even after hitting her head, she didn't lose this anger issues of hers," Without a word, he flipped on the AC and pressed the button to roll the window up fully. The car fell into a tense, quiet hum, the tension between them visible.
Finally, he spoke, "If you needed something that wasn't there, why didn't you just tell me first?" he said, his tone low. "Don't just take off like that."
Elara frowned, turning to him. "It wasn't a big deal. I just wanted a croque-monsieur."
Lucian's hands tightened on the wheel, "It's not about the food. It's about you wandering off without saying anything. You're too naive—do you even realize what Beaumont might want from you? Or are you that desperate for attention?" His words cut deeper, jealousy obvious in his tone for a moment.
Elara's breath caught, her eyes stinging. "Naïve?! I didn't ask for any of this mess, and for all I know, Adrian's supposed to be my fiancé," she said quietly. "I don't even know who I am, Mr. Duval, I'll be for real; I'm a total wreck right now, and the least you could do is show me some respect. Even Adrian does that much"
Lucian's grip on the steering wheel tightened further, his jaw clenching. "He's not your fiancé," he said, his voice low and edged with a possessive bite. "Don't let him fool you and the least you can do is treat your boss with respect too."
Elara turned to him, her hazel eyes searching his face. "If he's not my fiancé, then who is he and why are you not telling me anything about my past when you know exactly what's going on? You're the one who dragged me to your fancy estate— isn't that because you want me to get better? Or do you just want me hanging around like a problem forever?"
Lucian's lips pressed into a thin line; his gaze fixed on the road. "You're not a problem," he didn't say more than that, the silence stretching taut between them.
As the drive dragged on, Elara's exhaustion overtook her. She slept off, her head resting against the seat, her brown hair falling softly over her shoulder. Lucian glanced at her, his hard look softening.
He knew he'd pissed her off, but his pride wouldn't let him apologize—something she used to deal with before, though now, she might not put up with it.
As he turned her way again, he couldn't look away. Her beauty; those delicate features, the way her lips parted slightly in sleep stirred something primal in him. He bit his lower lip, his voice a husky whisper as he brushed through his hair with his fingers. "How long can I endure this? You're going to drive me mad, Margo," he murmured, the words filled with a desire that betrayed how deeply her presence affected him.
Back at the estate, Elara moved slowly to her room half awake, the lilies clutched in her hands. Their scent, once comforting, now felt heavy with the day's tension. She filled a vase with water and set the flowers on her nightstand, her motions sluggish. "So great! On my first day, this is definitely not a good sign. What's his problem?" she muttered softly, almost to herself. "Why does he act like he cares so much and then behaves like a douchebag afterwards?"
As she turned to her cabinet to set down her purse, her phone buzzed inside it, the ringtone cutting through the quiet. She pulled it out, her brow furrowing at the name on the screen: Adrian. She hesitated, her thumb hovering over the answer button, but the call ended before she could decide.
A text followed: Just checking in, Elara. Call me if you need to talk. She sighed, setting the phone down, her mind swirling with questions about Adrian, Lucian, and the tangled mess of her past.
"We definitely need to talk," she whispered to herself, the weight of the day settling heavily on her shoulders.
****
Lucian's POV: A Late-Night Call
Lucian retreated to his master suite, the door clicking shut behind him. The estate was silent, save for the faint hum of the evening settling in. He poured himself a glass of whiskey, the amber liquid catching the dim light, and sat at the edge of his bed, his mind a storm of conflicting emotions. The lilies, Beaumont's call, Elara's questions—they were unraveling him, piece by piece.
His phone buzzed on the nightstand, Mathieu's name flashing on the screen. Lucian sighed, answering with a tired tone. "What is it, Mathieu?"
"Evening, Luce," Mathieu's voice came through, casual but laced with concern. "Heard about your little outburst at the office today. What's going on with you and Elara?"
Lucian's jaw tightened, his grip on the glass firm. "It's nothing. Just Beaumont sticking his nose where it doesn't belong."
Mathieu chuckled, but there was no humor in it. "Don't play dumb with me. I know you, and I know about her—your wife. How long are you planning to keep this from her? She's asking questions, and she's not stupid. She'll figure it out eventually."
"I know she will," Lucian said, his voice low, strained. "But not yet."
"Why not?" Mathieu pressed, his tone sharper. "She deserves to know, Luce. You can't keep her in the dark forever—it's not fair to her. Or to you."
Lucian took a slow sip of whiskey, the burn grounding him.
"It's not about fairness," he said, his voice steady but heavy. "It's about her recovery. The doctors were clear—her amnesia is tied to the trauma of the accident. If I tell her we were married, that we… that things fell apart, it could overwhelm her. She's already fragile, Mathieu. I won't risk setting her back, not when she's just starting to find her footing."
Mathieu was silent for a moment, then sighed. "And that's the only reason? Nothing to do with those enemies you mentioned? Or Beaumont sniffing around?"
Lucian's gaze darkened, his free hand clenching into a fist. "That's part of it," he admitted.
"Her family's enemies, our enemies would seize the opportunity to exploit her against me if they knew she was my wife. Worse still, her own family is shamelessly using her as a pawn, forging a connection with the Beaumonts to secure their future investments. We both know the Beaumonts have the resources the Moreaus need to undermine us, and topple our empire. The Moreaus are practically selling their daughter to achieve their ambitions, and Adrian—he's complicit, shadowing her every move, weaving a web to keep her ensnared. She's safer as Elara Everly, my assistant, than as Elara Marguerite Duval, my wife. And Beaumont… he's a complication I can't afford right now."
"So, you're protecting her," Mathieu said, his tone softer. "But at what cost, Luce? She's not a pawn in your game. She's your wife."
"She's not a pawn! Listen Matthieu, things are already complicated right now. I doubt she even has an ounce of trust for me at the moment. We both know her before the accident, she had a little bit of psych up there and also.....when i... i look at her, i lose control for real. I'm trying so hard to not barge into her room now...she...she...,"
Lucian sighed, maintaining his composure. He exhaled, running a hand through his dark hair. "She's… everything. That's why I can't lose her again. Not to her memories, not to Beaumont, not to anyone."
Mathieu's voice softened further. "Then you'd better figure out how to tell her, before someone else does. Because secrets like this—they don't stay buried forever."
Lucian didn't respond, his gaze drifting down the hall toward the wing where Elara's suite was, a quiet distance separating them. He ended the call, the whiskey glass cold in his hand, Mathieu's words echoing in his mind. How long can I keep this up? he thought, the weight of his decision heavier than ever.